


I Know I’m A Wolf

by Marvel_My_Savior



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Bad Decisions, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Depression, Drugs, F/F, F/M, Fights, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lion And The Lamb, M/M, Multi, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, POV Alternating, POV Natasha Romanov, POV Wanda Maximoff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Natasha Romanov, Violence, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:34:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21538330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvel_My_Savior/pseuds/Marvel_My_Savior
Summary: A lion fell in love with a lamb story based around my interpretation of Young Heretics “I Know I’m A Wolf”Wanda’s been through a lot for only being a junior in high school. She’s quieter and mostly keeps to herself because of it. Natasha could say the same except she’s aggressive, tough, and all around seems the opposite of Wanda. It doesn’t seem right but it’s inevitable that the wolf falls for the rabbit.
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Brunnhilde | Valkyrie/Thor, Clint Barton/Pietro Maximoff, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	1. Wanda's Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I relate personally to this song and my own interpretation of it. Some people think it’s about abuse and others think of it like I do. I think it’s more about a person who is dark/violent and “bad” fell in love with someone who is soft/lovely and “good”
> 
> So with that being said this will be the other story I’m focusing on besides Cheerleader and I hope you guys like it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take a view into an average morning at the Maximoff house

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited about this story tbh so I hope I can keep up with it

(Wanda’s POV)

Father beat him again. Pietro was just trying to protect me from him. He never likes it when Pietro stops him from hurting me. That makes him beat Pietro worse than he beats me, but Pietro never stops saving me. Sometimes I wonder if mom was still here if she would stop father or would she let him do what he wants. He was never like this before she died back when my twin and I were five; at least I don't remember him being like this. I guess mom was the only thing keeping him and his aggression in check. Nowadays, he does whatever he wants to and doesn't care about us in the slightest. I used to think he did years ago when he would make his voice and call for me as though he was sad. I'd come over anxiously and happily even though the same thing happened every time. He'd smile at me and it was a sad smile. The type of smile that could only be painted on the face of a man with a thousand pains and regrets. He'd stay like that looking at me, his little girl, but then slowly, the smile would fade. His face would turn cold and empty and he'd start screaming at me. He'd grab me and toss me around, which caused Pietro to come running in an attempt to help me. Once he got father's attention completely, he'd toss me aside and lay into Pietro 10 times worse. All I could do was scream and cry for him to stop before eventually doing as Pietro told me and hiding somewhere upstairs. He doesn't look at me like that anymore. He doesn't speak to me with softness in his voice and sadness in his eyes. Now he just starts with the screaming and grabbing and hitting. 

"Sister? Do not think so hard. Whatever you are thinking is so loud I could practically hear it, and it's no good to do that," Pietro spoke with a strain in his voice from across the small bedroom. I'll never know how we can do things like this. It's like I can feel his emotions and he can feel mine sometimes. We're twins, which makes us closer than most siblings, but it's almost like a superpower at times. We've been through a lot though so I suppose we have a reason for being so close to each other.

"You don't have to save me every time Piet. I tell you this every time you do," I whispered back to him in the darkness. We'd been up for hours staying silent except for the occasional "are you still up?" or "what are you thinking about" because that's all we could do. We'd probably have to get up for school soon but the blackout curtains prevented me from seeing any possible light. Currently, we were in the room we've shared since our father kicked me out of my old room to turn into a room for his clients. Clients who are all criminals and convicts that were looking for a favor or a fix of some kind. 

"And every time I tell you that I'm never going to stop. We stick up for each other, Wanda. On top of that, I'm your older brother it's my job," His voice was weak because of the damage done to him. When I helped to the bathroom so we could assess the damage I took note of all the bloody areas. His nose and lips were dripping red per usual. Above his right eyebrow about an inch up were two cuts going at different angles. One was slightly slanted and the other was completely horizontal. It reminded me of a sideways T in a weird way. Other than that, his rib area had bruised along with his side. The bruises on his hips were from last time. I can imagine he's pretty sore and tired hence his tone. I know I'm tired, but insomnia never rests, so we're both forever awake it seems. 

"I know brother. And you're only twelve minutes older than me idiot," I grumbled the second part of my sentence and could almost sense him smiling just a bit. I heard a sharp breath, which meant he was going to chuckle, but the pain was too much. I've learned the sounds and cues and their meanings over the years. He's learned the same about me.

Outside the window, I swore I heard a few birds chirp signaling that night had passed us by with no sleep once again. If I had the motivation to get up and open the blinds, I'd probably see the sun slowly rising across the way. The broken clock on our dresser glitched out so we could never really read it properly. The internal lights must've broken at some point when it fell or when father threw it at one of us while claiming we were ungrateful. I'm grateful that other than to hurt us, he never pays any mind to us. We could be gone for three days and the only reason he'd be upset was because we weren't there when he wanted to kick us around. I suppose I should stop wallowing in self-pity and prepare myself for the dreadful thing called life and school. Father was kind of enough that Pietro and I did have cellphones, but we haven't had an upgrade in over five years. He got them for us when we were 11 as a way to apologize for his "client" attacking us on our birthday. I think that was one of the last times he ever showed that he had real human emotions other than anger. I used the flashlight on the phone to be able to see Pietro in the darkness and get his attention. I watched as he put his arm up to shield his face from the unexpected intrusion, and he made a quiet noise of discomfort. 

"Wanda, what the hell?" He groaned like a small child denied dessert. It was amusing enough to pull a quiet laugh out of me. 

"Piet, we have to get up for," I rolled my eyes and sighed, "school." I heard shuffling around on his side of the room following my wake-up call. Though I'm not sure it counts as a wake-up call if we were never asleep. 

"I know we have to go, but do we really?" I could see that he was sitting upright on his bed with his head turned to me. With the light in my hand, I could make out the bruise around his left eye and the two cuts on his forehead.

"Would you rather stay here with Father?" I know that he would likely ignore us but it's not worth the chance. I assume my twin was thinking the same thing as he shook his head slowly. I'm not the more responsible one out of us, but I did have my moments and I suppose this is one of them.

I was able to pull myself out of bed and stand shakily on the cold hardwood floor. Neither of us ever bothered to invest in a rug or anything to cover the wood floors. In our minds, that's a waste of what little money we have. We don't have a car and neither of us has our license, so getting a job is hard. Sometimes Pietro can get pity from people on the streets, but even though I didn't like it, I was more of the con artist type. Mess up their minds with a simple "magic" trick and take their wallet in the process. Of course, I always gave the wallet back when I would do another trick but only after taking whatever cash they had. It was cruel, but it worked when things were worse than usual. Pietro would sometimes help because of his athleticism. He was a far better runner than most anyone else in the school and it worked to our advantage. We would make up a fake scenario like I need to borrow 50 cents for my laundry, and right when the man or women pull out their wallet, Piet comes running and takes it. I'll act surprised and he'll take the cash out while running and throw the wallet behind him. We have no use for anything else in it after all so why do more damage then we need to.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and saw that my brother had successfully been able to sit sideways on the bed with his legs hanging off. His face contorted as he hissed while pushing himself up. Quickly and quietly, I walked over to him and attempted to help him up. As soon as he was up and let go of my hand, he stumbled into the wall using it for support. I tried to help but he put his hand up and shook his head. He never wanted help for himself and sometimes it was annoying to see him struggle so much without being able to do anything about it. He huffed and attempted to limp over to the door which he did end up doing but with little grace. I sighed and followed closely behind him. Before we do anything, I have to help him hide all the marks on his body. It's one of the only real reasons I have make-up.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
After covering up the damage to his face mainly and a little on his ribs in case his shirt came up, we go our separate ways. He stays in the bathroom to freshen himself up and I go to our room to get dressed and ready. When we finish what we're doing, we switch, so I'm in the bathroom and his in the bedroom. It's a system we figured out a long time ago when we were little kids trying our best to get ready for school. Only because we never knew if our father would be sober enough or even kind enough that morning to drive us if we missed the bus. Normally the answer to that was no and if we were late well we walked and that was the end of it. That's when we decided that this morning routine worked best to get us up and out the door as quickly as possible.

I put on some pair of skinny blue jeans from our closest and a red sweater to go with them. It was autumn, so not yet coat weather, but long sleeves were preferable. Today I just decided to fix my hair in the small mirror on the wall. It looked a bit messy but not enough that it looked bad or like I didn't try. For now, that was good enough for me. When Pietro came out of the bedroom he was wearing a tracksuit and an old pair of running shoes. It was a pretty common outfit for him, so I'm not very surprised. It wasn't until we walked into the kitchen to grab our backpacks that something was wrong. A woman was standing and waiting for the coffee maker to finish. Pietro rolled his eyes so hard I'm surprised that didn't roll back into his head. She hadn't noticed us yet and I figured it'd be rude just to stand there watching her. I cleared my throat loudly, which did manage to attract her attention. She whipped around to look at us and within 5 seconds, I could tell one thing: Prostitute. The silk robe she had on was pretty much see-through and she had no bra. She was also extremely attractive and would never sleep with our dad for free. Pietro scoffed at her before she could even speak and tugged my arm to signify that we had to go to catch the bus. He passed me my bag while throwing his over his shoulder, all while the woman just stared at us. I wanted to make a joke about her being a mute but she might get mad and that's the last thing I needed. 

"I- I'm sorry the man did not tell me he had children," It seems that she had snapped out of her daze and was now attempting to cover herself up. Pietro turned away to laugh at her snidely and I just shrugged. 

"Sometimes I don't even think he knows he has children," Okay, so maybe that was too much information to reveal to the random lady in our kitchen, but at this point, I'm pretty used to this type of thing. I did feel slightly bad because she did seem to be one of the nicer ones. Most just snap at us or accuse Piet of staring, which is definitely not happening because they have tits instead of a dick. I noticed her mouth opening and closing at my response. I shrug to let her know it was alright. Pietro practically pulled me away from there and out the door. We had to run to make it to our bus across the street. When we got on, we could hear some of the other teens snickering and staring at us. It wasn't worth our attention, though. 

"Why did you linger for so long sis? What did you find her hot or something?" Pietro whispered to me once we sat down. I frantically shook my head and turned to face the window, now embarrassed. However, that probably didn't help my case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment and feedback


	2. Natasha's Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A view into Natasha Romanoff's morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sup brosephs! We out here writing chapters at 1 am and drinking water in this Christian household! Anyway that's the update on My Life The Mental Disaster

(Natasha's POV)

The morning sun eliminated the dark bedroom through soft curtains. They were practically see-through and had no real use at all other than presentation. I hated them with every fiber of my being and pulled the scarlet red covers over my head while burying my face into the black pillow. I never understood why my mother bought me those things or really anything. She hated me just as much as I hated her. Hell, she might actually hate me more than I do her. I guess I understand why she got me things, but why my room needed to look nice was a mystery to me. Only one person had ever seen it and Clint didn't give a shit about image. It's one of the many reasons we're best friends. 

See, my mother likes things to look nice even if she doesn't like them. She's all about image and presentation but I don't fit into that agenda. I'm told to scatter when people come over and hideaway. If I have to be present, then I'm dressed up and made to look and act like the perfect daughter. Not that people come over often because god forbid anyone sees that her life isn't perfect at all. My father could care less about image but went along with her habits if only so he could beat her up about it later. Just so that he could yell and call her an attention-seeking whore and smack her around like a rag doll. Then when he stops beating her up, he'll come to find me and demand me not to tell a single soul what he does. He sometimes beats on me too, but I'd take that any day over what he used to let his brother do to me when I was younger. The memories still haunt me to this day. With a shudder, I pull myself up and out from under the covers while sitting up to let my feet touch the soft black rug below. The clock on my dresser told me I only had about 45 minutes to get ready for school.

"Fucking stupid school," I cursed under my breath before rubbing my eyes tiredly. Clint was giving me a ride per usual this morning and he said that if I get him another tardy, he's leaving me to fend for a bus seat on my own. With that in mind, I'm able to force myself to stand up and stretch. I'm pretty proud of how flexible I am, I guess. I can bring my leg up next to my head and touch the floor while leaning to my side. It was a fun little trait to possess.

I softly walked over to my closet to look at myself in the mirror hung on it. My hair would just need to be brushed for today since I showered last night, which is going to make my life a whole lot easier. I usually prefer to shower in the morning but I can see the appeal to a night shower. I ran a hand through the red hair to see how bad it is and I'm decently surprised that there are minimal knots. I don't leave a second more to dwell before opening the closet to see what clothes I'm feeling today. It wasn't hard to pick because most of my clothes fit the same, and that fit was great. A pair of skinny blue jeans and a maroon v-neck would be enough for today. My black leather jacket would, of course, accompany it, but it was currently on my desk chair across the room.

The sound of crashing items started growing downstairs. All I did was roll my eyes and sigh. It's really all I could do. Life is a bitch and this house is a shithole so what am I going to do about it. Sometimes Clint thinks the aggression is starting to affect me. I don't listen to him though. He's a kid whose most significant trouble in the morning is figuring out whether he's eating breakfast or not. Maybe that's judgemental of me but excuse me if I don't want to take advice from someone who knows nothing about what I'm going through. I never take his advice, but sometimes I listen and let him comfort me. I know it upsets him to see me hurt. He's the only one who sees the other side of my hurt behind being angry and violent. Clint was pretty much my only real friend and my best one at that. Yeah, I talked to other people in class or at lunch if I had to but people are idiots most of the time.

The pack of cigarettes in my dresser was practically calling my name after all of that thinking. My feet, which now had socks on them, moved me straight to the item in question. I knew I couldn't smoke one yet; instead, I settled for grabbing my leather jacket if only so I could put them in my pocket. I quickly combed through my hair to make myself look presentable. I, of course, knew I was attractive but that didn't mean I didn't need to try a little. With my day time attire finished and my hair done, I throw my backpack over my shoulder and hesitantly began to venture out my door and downstairs. I could already hear voices getting louder.

"I TOLD YOU TO DO THE DAMN DISHES BITCH!" My father's deep voice could probably be heard from a mile away.

"IVAN PLEASE! Be quiet! The neighbors could hear you!" My mother was definitely quieter in her response but the volume was more than it should be. I crept on the balls of my feet to avoid them. Clint would be here any minute and I couldn't risk getting caught up in this shit. If I could just...

"Natasha!" Well shit. 

"Yes, mother?" I answered calmly. As much as I'd love to, I didn't have time to provoke her.

"Why didn't you do the dishes?" She had her hands on her hips and was watching me closely. I was so close to the door yet so far.

"Well father asked you to do it so I assumed-" A loud crash interrupted me as the glass next to my father shattered on to the ground.

"YOU SEE? EVEN A FUCKING WHORE LIKE HER CAN REMEMBER WHAT I SAID!" He screamed at her and shoved her back into the counter. I had to leave now. I opened the door as quickly as possible and was out just enough that plate flying towards my body missed me. I turned around as I walked back towards the street and gave the house both my middle fingers.

"Yeah well fuck you too assholes," I put my hands down and stared at the house. I was angry and pissed off without a doubt. I wanted to act on the impulses so badly but a car honked at me from the street. I whipped my head around to see Clint in his 2010 faded blue sedan watching me with a smile. I pressed my lips tightly together in an attempt to replicate it. It apparently didn't work as his face dropped almost immediately. Stalking up to the car and practically yanking the door off, I threw myself down in the seat. 

"Rough morning?" Clint was asking but he already knew the answer. He always did.

"You could say that. Now c'mon I thought you didn't want to be tardy mister goody two shoes," I glanced over at him but mainly stayed looking ahead. He laughed at the nickname, and I started to relax as I laid back in the seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so do I write well in the first person? Normally I do the third person and I definitely prefer it but I thought this pov would be better for the story.  
> Also, sorry for the super overdue and late update. Got grounded for 3 and a half weeks then school had started back up. And I take all honors and AP classes so yeah

**Author's Note:**

> Comment and let me know what you think


End file.
